Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  One of the defenders defiantly launched a crossbow bolt at Marcos. It flew true but before it could travel half way across the bailey it disappeared in a flash of argent light. Only a drifting cloud of dust remained in its place.

  Marcos swept his gaze along the wall. Where his eyes fell the men yelped and dropped their weapons, the steel within them growing red hot until they were warped and twisted beyond use.

  With a nod of his head the gates blasted outward from the wall with a deafening boom. Through the sundered opening the Keshians charged. Within minutes the keep was secured and Goliad’s men were being held under guard within the bailey.

  Once he knew the keep was secure Marcos allowed his power to fade. Returning once more to his human guise. He took a step and staggered.

  Suni was there and offered his arm to Marcos for support.

  “The power takes its toll,” He said apologetically. “I will be fine in a few minutes.”

  “Sur’kar surely knows where we stand now.” Connell said.

  “It could not be avoided,” Marcos answered with a weary nod. “Goliad was in truth Gre’Doth, His body was a host to the Balhain. I could not allow him to continue to divide the men of this kingdom.”

  “Why did he not flee into the shadows when you attacked?” Casius wondered aloud.

  “The body he possessed was a trap as well as a tool.” Marcos answered. “Once within it he could not easily extract himself. He did try but my attacks held him in place.”

  “He is dead then?” Connell asked.

  Marcos nodded, standing on his own as his strength quickly returned. “He died long ago, before the war of the breaking. It was Sur’kar’s hand that slew him, making him something that lay between life and death. I severed the link between them and allowed his spirit to pass on.”

  “Can you do the same to the other?” Casius asked. “Without his servants Sur’kar would be greatly hampered.

  “Gre’Doth was the weaker of the twins, and now his brother will be forewarned.” Marcos shook his head. “I doubt I have the power to defeat him in such a manner.”

  “If you cannot slay Gre’Koth how are we to stand against Sur’kar?” Connell demanded. “Surely the master is far stronger than his servants.”

  “That is why we seek the sword,” Marcos answered. “It was forged solely to kill Sur’kar. There are workings cast within it, the sum of many powers working in concert.”

  “That was long ago Marcos.” Connell reminded him. “Do you think he has been idle all these centuries? Has his power grown beyond the swords ability?”

  “Possibly,” Marcos admitted. “If he knew of the blades existence he could have taken steps to protect himself. But that is a risk we are forced to take. Our options are few. There is only one path before us, one we must take in faith.”

  Connell cursed, “Then we can be doing all this for nothing.”

  “It is all that we can do. A small hope, but the only one we have.” Marcos said sadly. “As I have said he may know of it, but then again he may not. All he can be sure of now is that I have revealed myself and I am working against him. By which means I seek his end must remain a mystery to him.”

  Marcos turned and left the parapet returning to the shattered hall.

  Gaelan looked up from his sister’s side as they entered through the archway. “You must help her Marcos.” He pleaded.

  Marcos crossed the hall and placed his hand upon her brow. Her eyes rolled and she mumbled incoherently. The ring upon his finger glowed softly for a few moments before fading away. Marcos lowered his hand and shook his head. “She is gone.” Those three words echoed in the chamber tearing at the new Kings heart.

  Gaelan gripped her hand tightly. “Does her heart not yet beat?” He asked desperately. “Her body is sound, I see no wound upon her?”

  “Her wound is deep Gaelan.” Marcos said softly. “Your sisters mind is gone. Her soul has passed beyond the veil. This is foul work, Gre’Doth’s power drove your sisters spirit away.”

  Gaelan released her hand and stepped back. “Why do such a thing?” He asked helplessly.

  “For control,” Marcos answered placing his hand on Gaelan’s shoulder. “Weyass must have realized the danger Goliad posed and he destroyed her before she could warn your father.”

  “What can be done?” Gaelan asked his eyes wet with tears.

  “Place her in the care of someone you trust. Her body may live on for many years to come but the woman she was will never return.” Marcos squeezed his shoulder and lowered his hand. “I am sorry Gaelan. There are some things that cannot be changed no matter how much power a man wields. If I could help her I would, but in this case we must trust in the creator and let what will be come to pass.”

  Gaelan wiped the tears from his eyes accepting Marcos’s words. “I thank you for all you have done.”

  Marcos lowered his head in acceptance.

  King Wolhan and D’Yana strode into the chamber followed by fifty of Gaelan’s men.

  D’Yana’s face burst into a smile when she saw that her friends were safe. Looking at the dead Morne littering the hall she frowned. “I see you boys had a bit of fun.”

  Casius laughed. “If you call this fun you can have my share of merriment.”

  “Mine as well.” Connell added. “You fought well Casius,” Connell clapped him hard on the back. “Well indeed.”

  Suni inclined his head in agreement. “Although the techniques I taught you were for unarmed combat I am pleased to see them altered to suit your need.”

  “I must thank my teachers for my life.” Casius said to the men.

  “We merely showed you the tools,” Suni said modestly. “It was you who put them to wise use.”

  King Wolhan looked into his niece’s eyes. He knew from the look on Gaelan’s face that the news was grim. “Where is this Goliad?” He asked looking away from her blank expression.

  “Dead,” Gaelan answered. “Marcos slew him.”

  King Wolhan relaxed; he had hoped the usurper had not won free. Goliad on the loose could have caused much grief for Gaelan at a later time. “My men are searching the keep and surrounding city. If there are anymore Morne about we will deal with them.”

  “What of the men being held in the Bailey?” Edwall asked from where he was looking over one of the dead Morne.

  “Hang the lot,” King Wolhan advised. “They deserve nothing better.”

  “The innocent with the guilty as well?” Gaelan asked.

  “They took up the sword on Goliad’s behalf.” King Wolhan countered. “The security of your crown carries a high price.”

  “How many of them defended Goliad out of fear or ignorance?” Gaelan said. “Remember I was branded a murderer by Lord Vernal.”

  King Wolhan nodded. “It is your crown, I would warn you that if you go easy on these men some may strike again when your back is turned.”

  “How do we test the hearts of men?” Edwall asked. “Traitors have already broken one oath and will not hesitate to do so again.”

  Marcos rubbed his chin in thought. “There is a way,” He said. “It is costly to those who would deceive however.”

  “If it saves one life it would be worth it.” Gaelan responded.

  Marcos took Weyass’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Then let us return to the courtyard.” He said guiding her to the door as if she walked in her sleep. “It smells of death in here.”

  Outside the courtyard was packed with people. Many of them castle servants who stood huddled together too frightened to speak. They stared mutely under the watchful eyes of their heavily armed guards.

  Marcos guided Weyass to a stone bench and helped her to sit. Edwall sat next to her and assured Gaelan he would watch over her.

  Marcos grimaced in pain as he took a sword from a pile of weapons removed from Vernal’s guards. He carefully cleaned the weapon with the hem of his cloak. Holding the blade upright in his left hand he raised his right. Light flared upon his palm, bright and clea
n, the pure gleam sent tendrils outward to the steel. The blade glowed faintly at first then it brightened. The metal rang in protest and grew silent as the light extinguished.

  Marcos took the blade to the center of the courtyard. With a sharp motion he thrust it at the stone cobbles. With a flash of light the blade sank deep into the stone, leaving half its length exposed.

  Marcos wiped his hands and motioned for Gaelan to try and remove the blade.

  Gaelan reached out and cautiously grasped its hilt. He pulled with all his might and the sword held fast, imprisoned in the stone.

  “I have placed within it a small part of the light of Aytor taken from Red spire.” Marcos informed them. “Let oaths be taken. Any man who holds its hilt and seeks to deceive will be exposed. The blade will burn the hand of the liar.” Marcos looked at the assembled prisoners. “Speak the truth and you will be unharmed.”

  “Form a line,” Gaelan commanded the prisoners.

  As the guards arranged the prisoners a member of Gaelan’s guard stepped out of the keep. He was visibly shaken as if he had seen a ghost.

  Gaelan stepped into the doorway, away from the prying eyes of the prisoners. He motioned the guard to speak.

  The man swallowed. “Mi lord,” he said nervously. “The cells below the keep are filled with bodies. Many of them are the Lords of the Landsmarch.”

  “Are you certain?” Gaelan asked firmly.

  “The bodies are corrupted by decay but they yet wear the badges of their houses.”

  Gaelan had feared something like this would have happened. If not for Burcott’s men he too would be among the dead. “Have a guard set, I want no one entering those cells.”

  “One more thing mi lord,” The warrior took a deep breath before continuing. “Some of the bodies looked as if they were gnawed upon.”

  Gaelan nodded dismissing the man. He took a moment to quell the rage rising within him. With his fists still clenched he strode into the bailey. He glared at Vernal with such force the Lord flinched. “Marcos, let us get this over with.” He said coldly his mind still coming to grasp with the horrors he had seen today.

  Gaelan asked the men many questions, once satisfied with their answers he made them swear a binding oath to his service.

  Those who grabbed the swords hilt felt the power coursing through it. Many of the Lords cursed at the answers they were forced to give, the fear of the unknown forcing them to be truthful.

  Those who were forced to admit their treason were shackled and set under heavy guard away from the others. The line moved quickly until one of the Lords thought to lie. The hand grasping the sword immediately burst into flame. He fell to the ground screaming his hand charred into what resembled a claw.

  “You were forewarned,” Marcos said to the terrified crowd. “Speak the truth and you have nothing to fear.” Marcos turned to Gaelan and spoke softly so none but him would hear. “His hand will be whole in the morning. The burn is but an illusion.”

  Gaelan smiled, “I was having my doubts about continuing on after such a display.”

  Once more the line was moving. It took five hours to question all the captives. By the end of the day fewer than one hundred men and women stood in shackles.

  Gaelan stood; removing his gauntlet, he grasped the sword’s hilt. “I will now do what I have asked of you all.” He announced in a firm voice. “I Gaelan, heir to the throne of Trondhiem did not slay my father. I only seek to free the people of this land.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I have no desire for the crown, but as your King I will do my best to protect your lives and prosperity.” He removed his hand slowly. “Warriors of the King’s guard and defenders of Trondhiem, gather your arms and see to your posts. Servants of the keep return to your duties, light every lamp and open every window. Let no shadows remain in Thorunder hall. We shall drive out the dark stench of Goliad’s tyranny.”

  Gaelan smiled as the crowd dispersed. Their faces were filled with joy and relief, they knew the days of fear and darkness had ended. Gaelan’s smile faded, for he knew what these people had faced was only a shadow of what was to come if Sur’kar succeeded in his designs. The Bailey was emptying but a group of nineteen men stood facing him. They were the Lords of the lesser houses. Many of them were the sons of Lords who had proven themselves not willing servants of Goliad.

  Gaelan looked on their faces in both anger and pity. Sons forced to serve a usurper to save their lives and ensure the safety of their houses. He wanted to rage at them and call them cowards. But he was unsure how he would have acted if cast into their place. He needed these men; if Trondhiem was to survive, the lesser houses must support the crown.

  “You have failed,” he said forcefully. “You have failed your King and your honor.” It was a scathing rebuke that made them look to the ground in shame. “Whose men ride to Carich?”

  Several of them lifted their heads and met his gaze. Gaelan nodded approvingly. “Get horses and ride, go and recall your warriors. They will return here and take the oath as you have done.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed the five Lords.

  “As to those of you who remain,” Gaelan said drawing their attention. “Have your retainers dig graves in the royal downs. All those who lay upon the berm are to buried there in honor.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “Once your men have begun this task, you and you alone will remove the dead from the cells below this keep. They too will be interned in that hallowed ground. In this way you can begin to atone for your failure to protect those who could not save themselves.” He turned his back to the men and crossed the courtyard to where the others waited.

  “My lord,” He said to King Wolhan drawing the man aside. “Trondhiem is not safe and in the coming days the danger is only going to grow.”

  “I fear you are correct.” King Wolhan answered. “Sur’kar’s eye is here, focused on Trondhiem. With the death of one of his Balhain he may strike back in retribution, but know this, Kesh stands with you. Trondhiem is not alone against this evil.”

  Gaelan nodded, “I must ask you one more boon. I would be most thankful if Weyass could be sent to the Spire. I would rest easy knowing she is safe.”

  “Consider it done,” King Wolhan said. “Connell’s mother will see that she is well tended. As to her safety, as long as the Spire stands she will have a secure home.” King Wolhan pointed to a group of riders preparing to leave. “I am sending an envoy to the Spire and beyond. She can travel under their protection.”

  Edwall overheard the conversation and boldly interrupted them. “My Lords, let me have the honor of seeing her to safety.”

  “You will need a coach,” Gaelan said in agreement. “Have her servants gather what is needed and leave within the hour.”

  Edwall bowed, “Yes Sire.” He waved over a servant to watch Weyass while he prepared for the trip.

  The sun was setting and the air was growing bitterly cold fast. Gaelan shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it about his sister’s shoulders. “Take her inside, this cold will do her no good.” The old servant bowed and led her into the keep.

  “We should go in as well,” King Wolhan suggested. “You have many decisions to make before this day is done.”

  Gaelan led the way into the keep, suddenly exhausted by the events of the last few hours.

  The halls of the keep were brightly lit; the servants went about their tasks in an almost festive mood. Stopping to bow as the two kings strode past.

  Entering the old throne room they were greeted by warm air. Three hearths lined the north wall and within each blazed a cheery fire.

  Gaelan walked to the nearest hearth and held his hands before the flames. “We cannot tarry here overlong,” He said thinking aloud. “If Sur’kar strikes we should meet him on Timosh’s walls.”

  “I agree,” King Wolhan said. “The attacks will come from Moinar-Thur. It is at Timosh’s where we will stand the best chance of holding them back.”

  An old man bent by his many years shuffled into the chamber. His c
lothing was tattered and soiled. His bare feet wrapped in filthy rags.

  The guards at the doorway stopped him at the entry. One of the men was trying to search a large sack that hung from his shoulder.

  Gaelan looked up and recognized the man. It was his father’s steward and most trusted councilor. “Let him enter.” He ordered the guards.

  “Otess,” He said in greeting to the old man as he shuffled across the room. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”

  Otess fell to his knees before Gaelan. “Thank the gods you have returned my King.” He said pressing his head to the floor.

  Gaelan pulled the man upright. “You do not bow to me old friend,” he said wrapping his arm around the man’s bony shoulders. “What has become of you? You look as if you haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I fled the keep the night your father died.” Otess said with a shaking voice. “Little more than a coward fleeing into the dark.” Tears filled the man’s rheumy eyes. “I have spent these last few weeks hiding in the sewers, living the life I am best suited for, to afraid to flee the city. I beg your forgiveness Gaelan,” He pled. “I should have stayed at your fathers side.”

  “There is nothing to forgive Otess,” Gaelan said softly. “Had you stayed your blood would have mingled with my fathers.”

  Otess ducked his head and smiled in relief. He set the large sack on the ground at his feet and fumbled with the drawstring. “I took a few things as I left, they now belong to you.” Reaching into the sack he pulled out an ornate sword with an ivory pommel and emerald studded sheath. “This is your father’s sword.” He said handing the blade to Gaelan. He reached into the sack once more and pulled from it a cloth bound bundle. “This is the crown of Trondhiem, not that cheap copy Goliad had fashioned.”

  Gaelan tucked the sword beneath his arm and with shaking hands he unwrapped the bundle. He held in his hands a heavy crown of gold. Seven Emeralds the size of pigeon eggs encircled it. Surrounding them were rubies and diamonds. The gems glittered in the lamplight as Gaelan slowly rotated the crown.